


The Woods

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Horror, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: AU for the beginning of Season One. Sam hears from an old high school friend who wants to meet up with him. Unfortunately, what the Winchesters think is an innocent reunion turns into a deadly ordeal for the youngest Winchester. Can Sam survive a horrific monster and its crazed band of followers?





	1. Chapter 1

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

\- Robert Frost

Chapter One

Sam Winchester bowed his head as he reached into his locker to grab his backpack from its hook. All around him were the sounds of excited high shcoolers laughing, yelling, and chatting as they emptied from their last period classes into the hallways. The students of Westville High School were more raucous and energetic this afternoon because the last of the gritty, grey-tinged snow had finally melted in the warming blowing up from California and the shoots of early flowers were poking up through the softening earth. Spring had finally begun in Washington State.

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped in alarm, tearing the top strap of his backpack and dropping it on his feet.

"Damn it," he grumbled and bent down to pick up the pack.

"Sorry," Brett apologized as Sam straightened, eyeing his backpack warily.

"It's okay, it's old anyway," Sam muttered and zipped the pack up before slinging one strap over his shoulder, "What's up?"

Brett glanced down, suddenly shy.

"What?" Sam asked again. He glanced over his shoulder. The hallway was nearly empty now and he knew Dean was waiting for him outside.

"I… well," Brett began, looking up at Sam, his cheeks suddenly tinged with red, "I thought you might like this."

Brett shoved a worn, dog-eared book into Sam's hands. Looking down, Sam saw it was a book of poetry.

He looked up at his friend, confused.

"What's this for?"

Brett smiled, his cheeks turning a darker shade of red.

"You were the only one who actually listened to Mrs. Rosenblatt today in class," Brett told Sam, "If it wasn't for you she would have just droned on and on but you made English interesting for once."

Sam shrugged and put the book into his backpack.

"Listen," Sam turned to the other boy, "I have to go; my brother's waiting for me."

Brett smiled. Sam closed his locker and headed out to where Dean was waiting, just as he knew he would be, leaning against the driver's side door of the Impala, arms crossed.

"What took you so long?" Dean griped and opened the door.

"I was talking with Brett," Sam dropped into the passenger's seat and set his backpack on his lap.

Dean snorted as he turned the key in the ignition.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked.

"I think that Brett kid has a crush on you, Sammy," Dean smirked.

Sam shook his head, "We're just friends!"

"Sure," Dean argued as he backed the car up out of its parking spot and began driving out of the parking lot, "Keep telling yourself that."

W

On the way back to the motel, Dean stopped at a fast-food place and bought them some dinner.

"Is Dad back yet?" Sam asked as he shoved his backpack onto the floor of the car and held onto the greasy paper bag of takeout on his lap instead.

Dean shook his head. Sam let out a sigh of relief.

"So," Dean spoke without taking his eyes off the road, "How was school?"

Sam gladly changed to subject. He told his older brother all he'd learned that day even though Dean probably thought it was boring as hell- but he never complained- until they pulled into their parking space at the motel. Once Dean unlocked the door Sam hurried inside to get a start on his homework.

W

Sam didn't even look up when the motel room's door opened and John Winchester stepped inside. It was late- dark out- and both brothers were relaxing; Dean in front of the television and Sam looking through the book Brett had given him.

John surveyed the scene and stepped up to his youngest son.

Sam's grip on his book tightened and he forced himself not to look up even though he could smell the alcohol fumes wafting from his father's person.

"Dad," Dean said from across the room, his voice taking on an oh shit tone.

"What are you doing?" John asked Sam, his words slurring ever so slightly.

Sam lifted his gaze to his father's face, telling himself to remain calm.

"Reading," he replied.

John's eyes narrowed, "I can see that. Why? Why aren't you and your brother training?"

"Dad-" Dean began but stopped when John raised a hand to silence him.

"I asked your brother," their father said without looking at his eldest.

"It's dark out?" Sam said lamely.

"It's dark out," John repeated in a mocking tone, "And when do monsters like to come out?"

Sam felt his eyes suddenly sting with water.

"They come out at night," Sam muttered.

"Good job!" John praised sarcastically, "Then why don't you get your ass outside and train?"

"Dad, it's not like this motel is empty," Dean was finally able to speak up, "We don't want to attract attention."

John turned his head slowly to look at Dean. Sam could practically hear the gears in his Dad's brain turning. Dean was right, of course. They could go out and train but in doing so they would be sure to have more than one person ask what they were doing.

John grumbled to himself and returned his attention to Sam.

"What's this garbage you're reading?" he reached out and grabbed the book from Sam's hand.

"It's not mine! It's a friend's book!" Sam reached to take the book back as John flipped through the pages.

"Poetry? Poetry!" Sam's father exclaimed as though he'd been caught reading pornography instead.

"It's Brett's book!" Sam tried again but that was the wrong thing to say.

John took the book in both hands and tore it in half, right down the spine. Sam stared at his father in disbelief as the pages fluttered down onto the stained carpet.

"I don't want you reading this trash anymore and I don't want you talking to that kid again until we leave," John growled, leaning down so that he was face-to-face with his son. Sam nearly retched at the smell of alcohol and grease on his father's breath.

"Do you understand me?"

Sam didn't respond for a moment, he was simply trying to focus on breathing through his mouth as best he could.

"Do you understand me?" John snapped.

"Dad!" Dean exclaimed.

"Shut up!" John growled.

Sam sighed, "I understand."

John straightened and turned, grinding the loose pages of the poetry book into the floor as he did so, and left the motel room, slamming the door shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Rain dripped down the Impala's windows in a steady stream, obscuring the burger joint the car was parked in front of. Sam sat in the front passenger's seat, the radio turned off, waiting silently for his brother to return from getting dinner.

Sam drew his jacket closer to his body and shivered even though he wasn't cold. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. All he wanted to do was sleep. He'd tried to get Dean to just keep driving but his brother insisted they get some food before checking into a motel and Sam had been too tired to argue.

Sighing, Sam ran a hand through his hair for a moment before reaching into the back pocket of his blue jeans and pulling out his wallet. With only the light from the yellow and red sign for the burger place to guide him, Sam found what he was looking for; a creased and folded, coffee-stained picture. He pulled the photograph from its pocket in the wallet and stared at the lovely face of his late girlfriend.

Months had passed since Jessica's death and the grief was still as fresh as though it had happened only yesterday. Sam didn't think he would ever feel relief from the pain he was feeling, didn't think he should ever feel any sense of release from this agony. It was his fault Jess was dead, anyway. He'd been having nightmares of her dying, burning up on the ceiling just like his mother had when he was a baby, for weeks before the actual fire. He should have said something, told her to stay with her parents for a while at least, until the nightmares went away, to keep her safe. But he hadn't. He hadn't believed the dreams meant anything, that they certainly weren't some sort of glimpse into the future. And Jess had been the one to pay the price for his foolishness.

Dean had been trying to get him to talk about Jessica's death but Sam refused. There was no way he could tell his brother about the dreams, about his guilt, how it was basically his fault his girlfriend was dead. Sam was afraid of how Dean would react if he told him he'd known Jess was going to die before she had.

Besides, Dean had other things to worry about right now. Their Dad had been missing for months and they had no idea where he was. Sure, he'd led them to a few cases but always seemed to vanish before they'd arrived. It felt like their father was always one step ahead of them, stringing them along. If Sam was honest with himself, he didn't really want to find John. They did not see eye-to-eye and hadn't done so for a very long time. But Sam stayed with his brother. He would support him while they searched for their Dad and when they found him; Sam would go back to Stanford and finish his law degree.

Carefully folding Jessica's photo, Sam tucked it back into his wallet and shoved his wallet into his pocket. Just as he was getting comfortable again, and wondering what was taking Dean so long, Sam felt his phone vibrate and trill out in his jacket pocket.

Fumbling around for a moment, Sam finally found the cell phone and glanced at the screen. He didn't recognize the number but decided to answer in case it was their father calling from a payphone or something.

"Hello?"

"Is this Sam Winchester?" a slightly effeminate male voice asked.

"Yes? Who is this?" Sam replied.

"It's Brett!" the voice replied happily.

Sam frowned, "Do I know you?"

The voice laughed, "Westville High School? In Washington? We were classmates for, what? Three weeks and then you disappeared."

Sam said nothing, wracking his brain to recall this young man who seemed to know him.

"I gave you that book of poetry," the voice said and Sam suddenly remembered.

"Brett! How are you? It's been ages!" Sam exclaimed.

"I'm doing really good, Sam," Brett replied, almost purring the words.

"How did you get this number?" Sam asked, glancing out the side window of the Impala at the burger place, hoping Dean would return soon.

"A friend of a friend of a friend," Brett replied with a chuckle, "You were a hard man to track down."

"What's up?" Sam asked, sure that Brett wasn't just calling for a quick hello.

"I was thinking," Brett began, "That if you were in the area, we could get together, reminisce about old times, you know?"

Sam chuckled this time, "Reminisce about old times? Didn't you just say I was at Westville High School for three weeks? It's not like we've been friends since Kindergarten or something."

"True," Brett replied, sounding hurt, "But I was asked to go on this retreat thing with a group of friends and everyone is bringing a plus one and I thought it would be the perfect time to catch up."

Sam frowned slightly. Surely Brett had other friends who would want to go with him?

"I don't know," Sam hesitated.

"It's just for a weekend," Brett added, "I can pick you up Friday night and have you back wherever you need to be by Sunday morning."

"Come on," Brett wheedled, "You'd be doing me a huge favour."

Sam looked up as Dean came through the door to the burger place and started towards the car.

"Can I think about it? I'll call you back," Sam told Brett as Dean opened the driver's side door.

"Don't wait too long," Brett said and ended the call.

Dean sat down and held out a greasy paper bag and a cup tray to Sam. Sam sat his phone of the dash before taking the items onto his lap.

"Who were you talking to?" Dean asked as he closed the car door and raked a hand through his damp hair.

"You remember Brett? When I went to Westville High in Washington?" Sam asked.

Dean smirked, "Your boyfriend, right?"

Sam scowled, "We were just friends."

"Sure," Dean replied sarcastically.

"Whatever," Sam muttered mutinously and stared out the side window.

"Yes, Sammy, I remember him," Dean said, "What about him?"

Sam didn't say anything for a moment.

"Oh come on, Sam, I was just kidding," Dean sighed, "You had a freaking girlfriend!"

Sam closed his eyes for a moment before turning back to Dean.

"Brett invited me to some sort of retreat thing he's doing. It's just a couple of days and they were encouraged to bring friends."

Sam waited for Dean's response. He was hoping that Dean would tell him not to go, that they were in the middle of searching for their Dad and didn't have any time to go hang out with friends they hadn't seen in years.

"That's nice that he was thinking of you," Dean replied as he searched the motels they passed for a VACANCY sign.

Sam shrugged.

"I think you should go," Dean told him.

"What? Seriously?" Sam stammered, astonished that his brother would agree with Brett's idea.

Dean nodded, "Why not? It might be fun, relaxing, and God knows you need some time to unwind after… after everything that's happened."

"But what about looking for Dad?" Sam asked, curious.

"He hasn't given us any clues about where he is recently," Dean reminded him, "So until we find something or he contacts us, we're stuck. Besides, you said you'd be away a couple of days, right? I'm sure Dad can wait two more days before we show up."

They pulled into the parking lot of a nearly empty motel and Dean parked in front of the office.

"Besides," Dean smiled, a devious look in his eye, "You might rekindle your relationship with Brett out in the woods."

"Dean!" Sam snapped angrily.

Dean just laughed and exited the vehicle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a minute to leave Kudos or a Comment if you're enjoying this story!

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to mandancie for reading this story.


End file.
